TwoWay
by kkiiittttyyyyy
Summary: The War could always go two ways -- it was her choice in the end. Dramione. AU.


**Disclaimer: You know the drill. HP ain't mine. :)**

A/N: I've missed writing...Enjoy! :D

"_You are sure you can do this."_

"_Yes. For the cause – _anything_, for the cause."_

***

Rolling slowly to her side, the brown-haired witch struggled to free herself from her lover's body. Today would be _the_ day. Finally, the War would be over. Her treason – her _deceit_ – would soon be revealed in the battlefield.

Standing up, she approached the vanity mirror cautiously, expecting to see the reflection of a monster – what she begun to see herself as – staring back at her. But what she saw instead was a small woman of twenty-one whose bony face and gaunt frame spoke nothing of the bright and happy girl of her younger years. Her hair was a long mess of brown curls, looking more like a lion's mane than anything else. Lips that long ago had enjoyed forming words that answered the Hogwarts' teachers most difficult questions were now pale and dry, a small red cut – the result of the other day's skirmish – standing out. An assortment of other scars littered her body – a long diagonal one on her torso, smaller ones on her shoulders and thighs and the most prominent, an ugly deformed scar on her left arm.

Tears filled her eyes – out of fear and the joy of realizing she would soon be free from the misery of war – and for a moment she debated letting them fall. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to really cry. She needed it, needed to let her feelings pour and remind her that she was not some emotionless robot of war. Before the first drop could fall, however, she saw the man on _her _bed move slightly from the corner of her eye. Knowing he would soon wake up, she struggled to keep her emotions at bay and stood up to approach him instead.

He looked so innocent and peaceful when he slept. She suspected they all did. They were children after all, not soldiers or aged warriors. People their age were supposed to be learning, falling in love and making something of their lives. There were supposed to be promises and hopes and dreams. No one was supposed to die or have to risk dying when they hadn't even completely lived.

Brushing her finger across his cheek, she watched as his eyes slowly fluttered open and adjusted to the lighting of the room. The sun had begun to rise and a few rays had strayed in from the solitary window across the bed.

"Morning," he said sleepily.

"Good morning," she replied, looking straight into his grey eyes.

_The last phase of my mission – I'm almost done._

***

"_You are asking me to seduce him."_

"_Not exactly. You just need to – well, you know – make him trust you."_

"_By seducing him."_

"_No – "_

"_I will do it."_

***

It had been two years since she was sent into the lair of the Dark Lord. She still remembered perfectly the icy coldness that crept into her bones as she approached the Malfoy Manor – the Lord's new headquarters – and the fear sitting at the pit of her stomach. On the way, she had thought about turning back many times. She was almost sure that if she had, the Order would abandon the plan or else send someone older and more experienced. Her stubborn Gryffindor pride, however, would not let her give up so early in the game and she continued to trudge through the thick forest.

Earning the Death Eaters' trust was not easy. The amount of torture and mind rape she had to endure was indeterminable. Her skills at Occlumency were tested again and again – as well as her ability to survive multiple attacks of the Cruciatus curse. She had been blessed that _he_ was there. He, of all people, seemed to trust her words the most. Why, she never really knew. Perhaps he saw something in her that none of the others did. It seemed like he always did – like he knew her more than she knew herself.

Seducing the young pureblood had, as expected, been a harder task. Despite his quick acceptance of her as a comrade, he declined most of her advances. He would stiffen at the touch of her hand on his wrist and looked away when she so much as tried to catch his eye. When she entered the room with a sway in her hips, he was the only one among the wizards who did not stare. One night he came home from one particularly dangerous mission to find her reading a book in his bed and she swore she could see fear in his eyes.

He had been wounded badly and she gone to him to treat his ills. Again, he had been hesitant to allow her to touch him. It was then that she realized that the reason why he had seemingly refused her so many times was not as complex as trust or fidelity to his supposed fiancé. The reason had been simple – the very same reason behind his taunts, insults and scathing words in school. It had been because of her blood.

That very same night, she made up her mind that she _would _get him to bed. If not to fulfill her mission, to prove to him that there was nothing wrong with her or her lineage. Her blood didn't make her look any different, nor did it make her less qualified or talented in magic. It didn't make her weak or incapable. Her blood, if anything, only made her stronger.

Time had passed since that fateful night. Things, in their own way, had changed. As the blonde man fell on the other side of the bed beside her, tired and spent but surely satisfied, she just knew.

_Things will never be the same again._

***

"_How is it going?"_

"_Good. Better."_

"_You have not reported in over a month._

"_I have been very busy. I have a front to put up."_

"_You seem to be – ah, never mind. Be careful."_

***

At first, she had thought herself incapable of loving him. She had thought anyone incapable of loving him. The image of him that had stuck to her mind the most was one of a spoiled little rich boy who cared nothing about others' feelings. How could anyone love a creature like that? But as she was sure he had judged her, she was now just as sure that she had judged him hastily also. For a long time she had thought him to be evil – ruthless, rash and uncaring. In some ways, he was – in the battlefield and in the presence of the Dark Lord. He was a fighter. It was what was expected of him – and now, of her. His actions seldom spoke of what was really in his heart.

Disentangling herself from him once more, she left the bed to allow him to rest a few more minutes. She drew a bath for herself and sighed contentedly as the warm water soothed her soon-to-be-frazzled nerves. In a few hours, she would be leading an army of Death Eaters to the Order of the Phoenix's camp. At long last, the final battle would ensue. Hopefully, at the same time tomorrow, a winner would emerge. Unwillingly, she shivered at the thought. The result of today's battle would be in _her _hands. The fate of the Wizarding world depended on _her_. Not on Harry Potter or Lord Voldemort or any of the warriors on either side – _she_ would be the one to determine which side won in the end. It was _her _words that both sides had learned to believe fully.

Love – she never thought herself the type to betray it or the people whom she felt the emotion for. Years ago, if you had asked her to do so, she would have hexed you back in time all the way to the Neolithic age. She was a naturally loyal person – no matter how Hufflepuff that sounded. Once she gave her word – her honor, her trust – she never ever turned back. But these were hard times, war times. No one was really expected to be who they used to be.

The door suddenly opened and a head of blonde hair peeked into the now steam-filled room. She motioned for him to enter and in a few seconds, he joined her in the tub.

"Do you know what day it is today?" he asked her quietly.

"Of course," she replied with what he suspected was false bravado. He knew her – more than she thought he did – and he was sure that something was amiss.

The couple was silent then, enjoying the simple feeling of being in each other's presence. It could be their last chance. No one knew what was going to happen later. Despite all the planning, the war could always, _always_ go in two ways. She could lose him. He could lose her. That was almost _sure_.

"I love you," she said at last, looking at him with a look of quiet sadness.

_But I love them all too._

***

"_The plan is set then?"_

"_All set. On the 26__th__ of November, before sundown, the Dark Lord and his minions will make their attack."_

"_And we shall be ready for them."_

"_The best of luck."_

"_With you on our side, I don't think we ever needed it."_

***

Silently, she put on what she had begun to think of as her own Death Eater uniform. Over her black pants and fitted top of the same color, she put on the cloak that had, over the years, become the Dark's signature. As she pulled on her combat boots, she felt the Mark on her left arm burn – the Lord was excited. She stared at the atrocity for a few seconds before shaking her head in disgust. Voldemort treated all of his followers like dogs – save for the lucky few who had purposes apart from simply being murder machines. She was lucky that after only two years of service, he had already learned to appreciate the value of her quick mind.

After changing, she descended the stairs leading to the Manor's great dining hall. It reminded her somewhat of Hogwarts' own Great Hall and memories of happier times flooded her mind. Those times were long over, however, and she would do well to simply deal with the now. The time of the attack was drawing nearer – and the time of her freedom as well. In a way, she could not wait.

A few months earlier, she had finally realized how great a feat Severus Snape had pulled. Being a spy was not easy. Often the lines blurred between sides. It was hard to stay on track and focus on the real mission at hand. When you had been in it for years like she had, you had to learn to control yourself, to tell yourself not to get too carried away when following orders. She had thought at first that it would be fairly easy – thought that nothing could sway her convictions and Gryffindor self-righteousness. In a way, she had underestimated the power that self-preservation and self-gratification could have over someone. She had even dared underestimate the power of love.

But, no matter, she had made her choice in the end. As she approached the long table in the middle of the room, chocolate brown eyes met stormy grey ones and she gave a small nod. Yes, love was a powerful thing.

_Still, I know where my loyalties truly lie._

***

"_Miss Granger, what a surprise. I was not expecting you."_

"_My Lord."_

"_Have you good news?"_

"_Yes. It is – it is set."_

"_Good. We shall take them by surprise. Go now, my servant. We have many preparations to make until the 25__th__."_

***

She saw the look of surprise in the eyes of her – former – best friend as the Death Eaters launched an attack on their headquarters one day earlier than she had informed him they would. At that moment, she felt her heart wrench, sensing his feelings of anger and betrayal. She had led him – and the Order – on. They had thought she was on _their_ side. She was _their_ spy, _their_ ace card.

Before he could raise his hand against the masked Death Eater in front of him, she heard the words – words she would later live to regret uttering – leave her mouth and watched in horror as green sparks flashed from her own wand's tips and hit the man in front of her.

At that moment, she let the hood of her cloak down and shook her signature dark curls lose. His eyes widened in anger as he choked out what would be The-Boy-Who-Lived's very last words.

"Herm – how – could – you?"

Finally, two years worth of tears broke lose from her eyes as she bent down to take his limp body into her arms. Here was her best friend of almost ten years, lying dead of _her_ own hands. Never had she expected such betrayal – not from herself. She was supposed to be better than that. She was supposed to be _good_ – and clean and pure and brave. She wasn't supposed to move over to the Dark Side and become a _true_ Death Eater. She was not supposed to lie and lead her own friends into their deaths.

She was Hermione Granger. She was never supposed to fall in-love with Draco Malfoy.

***

"_You are sure you can do this."_

"_Yes. For love – _anything_, for love."_

**A/N: I'm really into the "dark Hermione" thing, aren't I? Well, I'm making a new fic that won't have a dark Herm...So...yey! Haha. Review? :)**


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